


dance to my death

by haermes



Category: An Ember in the Ashes - Sabaa Tahir
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 22:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6303070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haermes/pseuds/haermes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A curl of her fists.<br/>That was her only reaction.<br/>He is here.<br/>And he is going to pay for every single day that he was away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dance to my death

A curl of her fists.  
That was her only reaction.  
_He is here._  
And he is going to pay for every single day that he was away.  
\--  
Ever since Elias left her alone with a rapist as the King, the one person she has to listen to without uttering a word, Helene Aquilla has dreamed of this day. Because it was not about if he was going to get caught, but when. And only 83 days passed. 83 days of sharpening her knives. 83 days of fearing for his life. 83 days of wondering if he has already fucked that bitch. _Laia._ Leaving Helene Aquilla, the rightful Blood Shriek, with The Rapist King while he went on seeking freedom? She will crave apologies out of him using her knife first and then with her bare hands. One at a time.  
Keeping her face blank while thinking about all the ways she could hurt him, she sat at Marcus’s side in the Throne Room. Elias Veturius was no simple prisoner: he was a traitor, a danger and a liability. _My best friend, my only love, my disappointment._ She closed her eyes for a second, but this second would cost her.  
“Relieved that your childhood friend is back, my lovely Helene?” asked Marcus, placing a hand against her shoulder and squeezing tight.  
“None of your business, Marcus.” She didn’t even glance at him since she knew that giving him the satisfaction of showing her emotions would only bring death. _But who would die? Everybody._  
“King. You will address me by this title only, Aquilla. Or I’ll have you suck your little friend’s cock in front of this Assembly,” screeched Marcus into her ear.  
“Only when you will address me by my rightful title,” she said before adding “King” in full mockery.  
She expected anything else but this reaction. Marcus exploded in laughter, even holding his stomach with one of his hands. This got a reaction of her: she raised her eyebrows in surprise at him, while everybody else in the room glanced up at them for a second, wondering what that could be about. But they resumed their chatter soon because they understood the King was enjoying himself.  
“I always thought you were his whore, Aquilla. Oh, boy, was I so wrong?” He said after taking a big gulp of air. “But I never realized it was the other way around. He was your little slut. Nice one, Blood Shriek, you gained my respect,” he added, only a tent of sarcasm showing.  
_Keep calm, Helene. He wants reactions out of you. He wants to see you suffer. Don’t crumble your walls. You’ve worked hard to build them this high. Focus on your anger. Focus on that. Make it grow and bloom. You will need it_.  
“And he will be punished as one,” she replied, moving her gaze towards the big doors of the Throne Room. She sensed Marcus’s smirk as he slapped her ass, before he descended the stairs down from his Throne into the room, mingling with the aristocracy.  
_Just you wait. You are next on my list._  
\--  
He could see nothing. Pitch blackness. Why did they bother blindfolding him, though? It’s not like he will be walking out of this place tomorrow. No. He will die today.  
But this didn’t scare him the most. He was scared of something else entirely. He was ashamed. He couldn’t bear thinking of her, of her beautiful face, of her slender body, of her calloused hands or of her eyes. _God, those eyes._  
Instead he focused on remembering her weapons. Every single one of them. Her knives, her sword, her hands. Which one would she use? But he already knew the answer and it chilled him. Would he beg for her mercy? That would be a stupidity, he didn’t even deserve to look at her, but even to have her mercy? After everything he has done to hurt her? _I’d have more luck with Marcus._  
He was being pushed forward by his own comrades. _Former comrades._ Towards his death. It was such a pity that death has such a beautiful face. He would beg to be killed by her.  
\--  
Her patience was thin and fragile. She almost marched down the room, to her Masks to bring him here. But Marcus loved a good show and he obviously expected a grand one this time, especially from her. _But he won’t get anything. ___  
She was scanning the room when the doors of the Throne Room were thrown open to reveal a blindfolded form pushed forward by two other Masks. She couldn’t breathe for one second, her jaw almost dropped open at the thought of having him in the same room with her.  
_Fucking contain yourself._  
Helene relaxed her features, she was the embodiment of emptiness on the outside, but inside her feelings were blasting a civil war. Tilting her head on the side, her neck bones popped in anticipation as the room grew quiet. Marcus was ecstatic as he minimized the distance between himself and Elias, yanking the blindfold off his face.  
_Let the spectacle begin._

___\--_  
So fucking bright.  
Everything was a blur after breathing darkness for the last hours. He felt dizzy with the light, swaying on his legs, his knees weak. His eyes finally focus on the figure in front of him and it was the last person he wanted to see. He wanted to erase that smirk off Marcus’s face, but he was restrained by the two Masks.  
“Well, well, well. Look who is back. Little Veturius. Your plan didn’t work that well, did it?” Marcus patted his cheek in mockery.  
Elias couldn’t stop himself from spitting him in the eye, glaring as he tried to free himself off the arms holding him. But this was his first mistake. Marcus straightened himself before he ordered his Masks to hold him tight. He cleared the saliva off his face before he swung his fist right in Elias’s mouth, again and again. The pain was blooming and he was welcoming it, for the first time in his existence, he was grateful for the physical pain. It was dimming the pain at his heart.  
Too soon Marcus stopped from punching him and Elias managed to open his eyes, flinching as he saw Helene holding back Marcus. “Give him first a right trial. Then you can punch him all you want,” she said, her voice barely audible. She was walking a tight line, stopping the King in front of the Assembly. His heart swell at the sight of her.  
“Helene,” he whispered involuntary, his only beg.  
\--  
Hearing her name, her eyes shifted to his, glancing down at his bloody face. _This is only the beginning._ Her nails dug into Marcus’s coat before he shoved her away, running his fingers through his hair. _Smug asshole._  
“Let him go,” Marcus growled to the Masks as Helene stepped aside, making way for him. He walked to the throne, sitting down and adopted a relaxed posture. But the Masks, her comrades, were not his anymore, they only answered to Helene’s orders. A small victory to her part. Her lips quirked into a proud smile before she motioned her Masks to let Elias go. The moment they took their hands off him, he crumpled down to the floor, to his knees.  
“Bring him closer,” the king ordered, his high spirits lost to this incident. Helene bowed her head, her smile is growing wider. _Just this one time I am glad to respect his orders._ Her eyes sparkled as she gazed over Elias’s body before she wrapped her fingers around his over grown hair and started pulling him closer to the throne, dragging his body against the marble floor. She felt his body tensed against her touch. _This body that I know so well. My other half, my Elias, my - . No. Stop. He chose his freedom over you. He chose to leave._ At these thoughts she yanked him harder, strands of hair breaking against the force as she brought him in front of the throne.  
“Now come here, my Blood Shriek,” Marcus called to her, addressing her by the formal title to spite Elias, to put it in his face that Helene belonged to the crown, not to him anymore. _Good. Hurt him. More, more, more, more. I want to destroy him. But to destroy him is to destroy myself._  
Then she murmured to him. “Welcome home, Elias. I’ve missed you.” And then she took her first step towards Marcus, towards the destruction of both of them. Her heart squeezed at that thought.  
\--  
He couldn’t help staring at her, at her gorgeousness. _Gods._ It was bliss to be pulled by her, even if his scalp hurt, it was better than an orgasm. What immediately caught his eyes was that Helene was not wearing the attire of a Blood Shriek, but she was wearing a dress, almost looking like she was going to a party.  
_Will you dance to my death, Helene?_  
It was an immaculate white, so spotless it almost was too bright to look at. The straps of her dress were hugging around her neck, caressing her collarbones and then fitting tightly against her breasts. _Fucking hells, stop staring at her breasts._ But he couldn’t. The material of her dress was tight until her waist, from there the dress flowed against her legs, down to the floor. The back of the dress was an intricate model of lace and embroidery that offered a look to her arched spine.  
Everybody in this room would think that Helene would be harmless in that dress, that she couldn’t be carrying any weapons. But Elias knew better. He could bet she was carrying at least three knives, tucked securely beneath the dress and what they didn’t know was that his best friend was extremely dangerous without any weapon, too.  
Her heels clicked with every step she took and Elias couldn’t think of anything except how good it would feel to be stepped upon by those. It would be merciful in comparison with what Helene could have prepared for him.  
As she let go of him and uttered those words for him only, his heart felt like breaking into millions of pieces, realizing that he left her all alone here. He left her to be consumed by Marcus’s wrath and disgust, by her duties and orders and by her remorse and thoughts. He fucking despised himself.  
_Forgive me, Helene._


End file.
